Regulus
by skyewardfitzsimmonsphilinda
Summary: For this prompt: "Skye finds out she is pregnant with Ward's baby after the big reveal and absolutely hates it. She keeps it anyway but still struggles to love her baby after he/she is born. However, it turns out the kid is special (whether it has superpowers or unique DNA etc.) and Hydra (without Wards knowledge) kidnaps the baby."
1. The Birth

_"__Skye finds out she is pregnant with Ward's baby after the big reveal and absolutely hates it. She keeps it anyway but still struggles to love her baby after he/she is born. However, it turns out the kid is special (whether it has superpowers or unique DNA etc.) and Hydra (without Wards knowledge) kidnaps the baby. Then she realizes she really does love her baby and goes completely mama bear to get it back."_

It took nearly a year to realize she had fallen in love with Grant Ward, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

It took fifteen minutes in the janitor's closet to realize she also loved fucking him.

And it took a few devastating seconds in another closet on Providence base to realize how much she regretted both of those.

Skye was nearly eight months pregnant now, and she was beginning to think that this bloated-horny-hungry feeling was never going to leave. It had been a long day on the Bus.

May had regained the plane a few months ago, because by some odd oversight on Ward's part, the bus had been left unprotected on the Hydra base for an entire shift. Skye wondered if it had been some kind of penance for reporting to Fury, but if it had been, it had worked. Coulson had accepted her back wordlessly, and Skye was grateful for the added protection.

God knew Fitz and Simmons knew nothing about hand-to-hand. They could fire a weapon under duress, maybe—Coulson had told her Fitz had once, back at the Hub when it all went down—but beyond that they were even more helpless than she was.

Skye had continued her training with Triplett and May at first, until morning sickness made it impossible and she had had to finally admit that it was true. That she was pregnant after a fling in the closet with a dirty traitor.

"Skye?" Jemma called, and then she opened the door and slipped into Skye's bunk room. "I've been looking for you. I want to have a movie night, and Fitz and Trip are in."

Skye laughed. A neo-Nazi terror organization was hunting for them, but FitzSimmons wanted a movie night. "What did Coulson say?"

"We haven't asked him yet, but May thought it would be fine."

"She told you that?"

"No, she just mostly rolled her eyes," Jemma said brightly. "But coming from May, that's practically agreement."

Skye smiled slightly, but she felt tears welling at the back of her eyes, because the next question on her lips had been _and what about Ward? Is the tin man going to join us? _As if he were still the man they thought they knew.

Jemma took her hand, her eyes full of concern. "Oh, Skye," she said softly. "I know how hard this must be for you. You've been so brave."

Skye brushed a hand across her eyes, grateful for Jemma's sympathy. "What am I going to do?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why am I keeping this baby? What if it looks like him? Will I hate this baby? I don't want to give birth to a baby that looks like a murderer."

"Skye," Jemma said sadly, squeezing her hand. "You've been so, so strong, and that's what you're going to keep being, because you're Skye. You're a survivor. And this baby is _your_ baby, not Ward's baby. She'll look just like you, I know it."

"She?" Skye asked, smiling through her tears. "I thought the baby wasn't positioned right, so we couldn't find out the gender."

Jemma grinned. "Some things, Skye, you just _know_."

Skye nodded, a tiny grin spreading across her face. "I've been calling it a 'she' since day one. God knows what I would do if I had a boy. If he did look like Ward"—

"He'd be in his crib saying 'I'm Agent Baby Ward and I can take out this crib with my pinky finger,'" Jemma said in a nasally voice, and Skye started laughing. Jemma started giggling too, and in a second they were both lying on the bad and laughing until their sides were shaking. And just like that, Skye started crying again—it seemed to happen a lot lately, damn her hormones—and Jemma had tears in her eyes, too, because they couldn't laugh like this anymore. Because Ward wasn't just one bunk over rolling his eyes at their imitations anymore. Because she was carrying a little girl who might look like a murderer. Because nothing was ever going to be okay again.

Jemma wrapped her arms around her, and they sat there like that, Jemma whispering soothingly, but both of them still teary and emotional.

"Should we go in?" they heard Trip's low voice outside the door.

"Are you crazy?" they heard Fitz back. "They're _crying_. What do you do when girls are crying?"

"How should I know?" Trip hissed back. "I'm a specialist. I don't deal with crying women, I deal with—guns and bad people and stuff."

"Well, _I _deal with science, Agent Triplett," Fitz whispered back, annoyed. "You're supposed to be the brave one."

"Should we find them chocolate?"

"Good idea," they heard Fitz reply. "I'll get the chocolate. You go in—and—I don't know—pat them on the back a bit."

"I'm not going in there alone!"

Skye and Jemma exchanged a look, and then Jemma giggled. Skye shushed her through her own giggles.

"Is that crying?" they heard Trip again, and Jemma giggled louder. "Oh god." He said.

"What?" Fitz demanded.

"Do you think they can hear us?"

This time, both girls burst out laughing, and Fitz opened the door, annoyance on his face. "We were going to get you chocolate," he said reprovingly. "You shouldn't be laughing at us."

"_You _were going to send Trip in here all alone," Skye corrected him, and Jemma giggled louder.

Trip appeared behind Fitz, grinning ruefully. "That's the last time I try to do something nice for you two," he teased.

May appeared in the doorway behind the boys. "Downstairs. Training room," she said shortly. "Now. No, not you, Fitz. I just need the girls."

"We were going to have a movie night"—Fitz complained, but Trip helped Skye to her feet.

"Go pick out a movie," Jemma told him over her shoulder. "We'll join you later."

Three hours later, the girls were still in May's room, with blankets around their shoulders. Jemma had stopped crying and was beginning to fall asleep in her corner of the couch, but Skye, who sat between the two women, was still emotional.

May pulled out another bar of chocolate wordlessly and handed it to her, then reached out a hand tentatively to stroke her hair. Skye curled closer, not caring for a moment that May was the Zen warrior and couldn't possibly be concerned with this over-emotional mess.

"I'm glad this wasn't really a training session," Skye said softly, drying her tears. "And I'm sorry we cried on your shoulder for three hours."

"You needed to let it out," May said, and a slight snore from Jemma made her look up. "I'm glad you have her. I'm glad we got her back."

"Me too," Skye said, shuddering slightly. Ward had sent their pod into the Atlantic Ocean, and they had only escaped because by some lucky chance the emergency door at the back had been left ajar. "She's as emotional as I am some days."

"She'll be fine," May said. "She's stronger than she knows."

"Fitz keeps hovering," Skye said, pulling the blanket up farther. May moved automatically to tuck it over her. "But I think they thought a movie night would help both of us. At least they tried."

May let out a snort of laughter through her nose. "They were doing such a fine job of that," she shook her head. "Did you hear them bickering outside of the door?"

Skye nodded, laughing and then yawning widely.

The two women fell silent, May absentmindedly continuing to stroke Skye's hair. Jemma snored slightly again, and May smiled slightly.

"May?" Skye broke the silence, her voice sounding small even to her own ears.

May looked down at her, waiting.

"What if I hate it?" she whispered, her hands closing over her abdomen, where she felt a tiny foot kicking persistently. "The baby. What if I can't stand to look at it?"

"You won't," May said.

"How do you know?" Skye persisted, her voice hoarse and cracked.

"Because it's not in you, Skye," she said. "Hating. It just isn't. It's why you're so strong. Sometimes I think you're stronger than all of us."

Skye wasn't strong, not even a little bit, when she went into labor early, three days later.

It took thirty-six hours.

Thirty-six fucking hours, gripping May's hand in hers, pushing and trying to breathe and trying to listen to Jemma's coaching and trying trying trying not to scream at the top of her lungs.

And then the baby—a girl—was lying in Jemma's arms, and it should be over, it should be—

But it wasn't.

Her body felt like it was going to split open, and the contractions were continuing, and she was screaming, and Jemma was yelling for Coulson to help, and there was murmurs about another baby—a head visible—that the girl already born wasn't breathing—

But this wasn't how Skye knew she was weak.

It was when everything started to fade to blackness, when she couldn't even feel May's hand in hers anymore, when the pain was too much, and all she could hear was her own voice, screaming Ward's name.


	2. Numb

Skye woke to find worried faces peering over her.

Jemma placed a baby boy in her arms, her face nearly gray with weariness. There were tears in her eyes. "Your son," she said softly.

Skye tried to sit up, and Coulson put a hand on her shoulder. "What about my daughter?"

May approached, holding a small bundle in her arms. "We couldn't save her," she said softly, and Skye shook her head.

"No," she said. "No. No. How?"

"She was born with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck," Jemma said, and Fitz put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "She was born dead. There was nothing we could do. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"And my son? Will he be alright?" Skye asked shakily, looking down at the tiny baby boy in her arms. He let out another tiny, fragile wail, and she pulled him closer, tucking the blanket around him. It was the first moment she really looked at him. He was tiny—of course he was, three weeks early—but perfect, his fingers and toes perfect and miniature.

"He's a little underweight," Jemma told her gently. "But he's healthy. He'll want to be fed a little more often than most infants, I would think, but he should start gaining weight soon."

Skye turned her face away from all of them. She felt numb. Dead.

The child in her arms that needed her, cried for her… she could barely feel him there.

Her daughter was dead. Gone.

Ward's daughter.

She wondered, briefly, if he would have cared.

Probably not.

"Please," Skye said feebly. "Can I have a moment alone with—with my daughter?"

Coulson nodded, jerking his head towards the door. He touched Skye's shoulder gently, and then turned to go, following Fitz and Trip. Jemma lingered a moment longer, squeezing Skye's hand, and said, "I'll be back in an hour to check up on you two."

"Do you want to hold her?" May asked gently. "I can take him for a moment."

She transferred the tiny bundle into Skye's arms, and Skye looked down at the baby brokenly.

She was pale and tiny and perfect, and Skye reached out a shaking hand to touch her cold fingers. She didn't realize she was crying until a tear splashed onto her daughter's marble skin.

Skye shook her head. "She looks like she's sleeping," she whispered brokenly. "Oh, god May—I wanted my daughter. I didn't know I wanted this little girl, but I do—dear god"—

"Skye," May's voice was gentle as she took the little girl back into her arms and placed the boy into Skye's. "Skye, nurse your son. He needs you more right now."

Her boy latched on quickly, and if things had been different, Skye would have cherished the little contented noises he made as he nursed. As it was, she felt cold—so, so cold. And so tired.

May called Simmons back in, and she took the little girl wordlessly.

"Can we bury her outside of… of LA? It's where… my foster mom… the one that died…" Skye's voice trailed off, and May nodded.

"Anywhere you want, Skye."

"How will we get there?"

"Tell me where and I'll set the coordinates," May said.

"What if Hydra or someone spots us?"

May's mouth hardened into a thin line. "They'll regret it."

It was just the team at the burial, of course. As if there were anyone else who would ever care about Skye. Triplett and Fitz had worked together to carve a tiny coffin for her daughter.

She had named the baby Maia Lynn.

No last name, like her mother.

They buried her on a little green hill overlooking the creek where Skye had remembered feeling safe for the first time.

Triplett had insisted on carrying Skye from the bus, because she had gone through labor only a day ago, and Coulson carried her son—she had named him Neil Michael—while May stationed herself at his shoulder, guarding them all with a vigilance that left even Coulson looking slightly terrified.

They had to leave almost immediately, because a Hydra patrol had somehow picked up on their location, and Skye didn't get to say goodbye.

Not really.

_Maia Lynn. Neil Thomas. _

_His children. _

_No. _

_No, _my_ children. _

Skye felt as if she existed in a void.

Empty.

Numb.

She would hold her son, her frail, fussy little infant, to her chest for hours, as if he was the only thing holding her to existence.

Jemma hovered over her constantly, and most days Fitz would join them in the med pod, too, telling stories and fussing over Neil more than any of them.

Trip joined them, too, though Skye could tell he felt as if he wasn't really part of the group and wasn't sure what to say to her. She was grateful for his sympathy, but it wasn't until she heard him accidentally refer to himself as "Uncle Trip" out loud once that she realized just how glad she was that he had stuck with them.

Coulson usually came in the afternoons, and sometimes they would just sit in a comfortable silence. Other times he would talk and she would listen—he would tell her stories that ended with hope, and Skye would cling to them. And then Coulson would take Neil into his arms and look at him with such wonder that Skye almost began to believe in that hope.

Of all of them, though, May was the fiercest. She was silent most of the time, but she was a constant presence—every single time a meal was brought to Skye's bedside, she made sure Skye ate. If Skye wanted to get up, May stayed at her side the whole time, and one night, when Skye got out of bed to use the bathroom, she found that May had been sleeping just outside the med pod, too.

Neil was nearly a month old when everything changed once again.

They were flying over Bethesda on their way to join Maria Hill at a rendezvous point she had named when Hydra descended on their plane.

It was an aerial attack—a daring one—at midnight, and the noise jerked Skye out of her sleep. She grabbed Neil, and then searched the room for weapons. May had left her a night-night gun, a knife, and—was that a real gun? Fully loaded.

Of course.

_Thank you, May. Thank you. _

Skye heard the shouting—heard weapons firing—and she stayed in the med pod, hating the feeling of powerlessness that came with having someone as vulnerable as Neil to protect.

And when they came—when they had fought their way through Coulson and May and Trip and FitzSimmons—Skye was ready.

She placed Neil in his bassinet in the corner, and then she stood, firing, again and again and again. Neil was wailing at the top of his lungs, and at least six men were on the ground, and still Skye fired; fired until she had no more rounds and still the soldiers poured through the door.

There were eight men standing, guns trained on her, and Skye felt a rage she had never experienced before.

"You touch my son," she hissed through her teeth, gripping May's knife in her fist. "And I will personally make sure you die slowly."

"Stand down," one of the agents said. "You're outnumbered, and we have orders not to harm the kid, but we have no orders not to shoot _you_."

Skye hurled her knife into his chest, and then she sprang forward, gripping a needle into her hand.

"You do _not_ fuck with my son," she snarled, and she fought them as Ward had taught her. If Neil's father had done nothing else right, at least he had been able to do this.

So she fought, as she always did, without any hope of beating all eight agents, because her son was wailing in that bassinet and she would be damned if they took him without a fight.

She fought—she kicked and threw punches the way Ward had taught her—she fought until she had no strength left in her—until she could only claw and kick desperately at the men who held her down.

And then she was on the ground, and someone's boot came crashing down on her head, leaving her in merciful darkness.


	3. Vengeance

Skye woke in a damaged med pod, her head throbbing, and she leapt to her feet, only to find that her head was spinning.

Someone caught her arm, holding her up.

"Whoa there," Coulson said.

Her vision cleared as he guided her to a seat, and she saw that his face was battered and swollen.

"I'm so sorry, Skye." He looked at the floor. "We tried to stop them."

"Yea," she said roughly. "But there were too many. Is the rest of the team okay?"

"Fitz and Simmons are conscious again, though they both took a beating. Simmons—it was the first time she killed a man, Skye." He looked up at her, his eyes dark with sadness. "I wish I could have protected them from that. And Triplett took some hard hits—a knife in his shoulder and some pretty nasty bruises. He took out at least a dozen men for you and your boy, Skye."

"And May?"

Coulson's face darkened. "She got the worst of it. One agent almost went running. She's still recovering."

"Good," Skye said, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. "Because then she won't try to stop me from going."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Coulson demanded.

Skye stepped through the mess and grabbed a bottle of pain meds from the counter. She downed three of them, despite Jemma's feeble protests, and then retrieved her knife.

"I'm going after Neil," she said. "I'm going to trace them down, and I am going to take out anyone who tries to stop me from getting my baby back."

"Skye, you need to recover first."

"No," she said fiercely, pushing a gun into her belt and then strapping a knife to her thigh. "I need my son back. And I am going to make _damn sure_ Hydra knows they were wrong to fuck with me."

"Good." A voice sounded from the doorway. May was standing there, her eye swollen and a gash running down the side of her face. She was holding a semiautomatic. "I'm going with you."

"Yes," Simmons echoed, holding up a night-night gun in shaking hands. "So am I."

"Well, you're not leaving me behind," Fitz appeared behind May, carrying a gun that looked too big for him.

Coulson nodded, smiling ruefully. "Well, I guess that's settled then."

"Did I hear you trying to take off without Uncle Trip?" Triplett appeared in the doorway, grimacing through the bruises on his face. "Because no way in hell is that happening."

"I'm going to get a location on them," Skye said. "Trip, you should rest until then. Fitz will get our weapons ready, and Simmons will check everyone over before we go. May, can you get the plane ready as soon as I have the coordinates?"

May nodded, and Coulson touched her arm gently. "I can do that. You rest until we're ready to go. Skye, take it easy, okay. You got hit pretty hard."

"And I can get back up and hit harder," Skye said, shaking back her mess of dark hair. "And Hydra will be sorry for the day they ever thought it was a good idea to lay a hand on my son."


	4. Regulus

They found Garrett just outside Mexico City, on what was supposed to be a deserted base.

It had taken them six hours to fly there, and even Coulson had stopped caring about stealth at that point.

"We go in guns blazing, we could put Neil in danger," Trip advised, but Skye shook her head.

"You all go in guns blazing, and I go in the back, armed to the teeth, find my son, and get out of there."

It wasn't the best of plans.

In fact, it was a pretty god-awful plan, but Skye was past caring.

She had already lost a daughter. There was no way in hell she was going to lose a son, too.

It didn't go as planned.

Of course it didn't.

During the firefight, Skye succeeded in getting inside without raising an alarm in the back, but when she reached the underground lab, everything changed once again.

Garrett was waiting for, a gun trained on the makeshift bassinet where her son lay sleeping. "Move and I'll shoot him."

Skye stopped, her lips curling into a leer. "You won't shoot him," she said. "You need him. I don't know why, but you need him."

Garrett laughed. "We already took a blood sample," he said. "That's all Raina needs."

"Why?" Skye demanded, not lowering her gun. "Why did you want him?"

"Your DNA is unique enough, Skye," he said. "But this child is also part human, and because of that, his body has unique regenerative properties."

"What the fuck does that mean?" she asked roughly, inching forward as Garrett's gaze was focused on the child.

"It means that his body self-heals," Garrett said. "At least to some extent. He should have a lot more problems because of his premature birth. But that doesn't matter. We have what we need. So tell me... _Skye_… tell me one reason to keep this child alive any longer."

"Because if you touch my son," Skye said slowly, raising her gun so that it was pointed between his eyes. "I will put a bullet through your brain so fast you won't have time to scream for mercy."

She felt a sharp blow to the back of the head, and she stumbled.

Garrett used the moment to yank the gun from her hand, and now he turned, pointing one gun at her and one at Neil.

Deathlok stood behind her, his face grim.

"Stay where you are, Skye," Garrett ordered, a smirk crossing his lips. "Deathlok, bring him in."

_Him? _

A few seconds later, the door slammed open, and Deathlok dragged someone through the door.

_Grant_?

He was almost unrecognizable.

His face was swollen and battered, and one arm hung from his side at an awkward angle, clearly broken in at least two places.

_What have they done to you, Grant? _

"Skye," he groaned through swollen lips. "Why"—

"I was hoping you'd ask, Agent Ward," Garrett said, smiling that odd, empty smile. "Say hello to the family. Did you know you have children? A pair of twins, I'm told, though where your daughter is, I have no idea."

"Her name was Maia," Skye snared. "And she's dead." She turned to Ward, her eyes narrowing. "Your daughter is dead, and you didn't even know. Or care."

Ward looked up from where he knelt, his eyes dark with regret and despair. "Skye"—

"You have a son, too," Garrett announced, his near-crazed grin widening. "What did you say his name was? Neil?"

Ward looked up at her, his eyes bright with tears beneath the bruises. "Neil," he whispered.

"Yes, Ward," Garrett said, training his gun on Skye. "And you're going to kill him."

Ward staggered to his feet, eyes wild, and Skye strained against Deathlok's grip desperately. "No," he said, wavering on his feet. "No way in hell."

Skye looked at him, and Garrett saw the surprise on her face.

"They don't know any of it?" he asked Ward, laughing sardonically. "You didn't tell them that you saved Fitz and Simmons? That you left them the whole fucking plane?" His lip twisted in a leer. "You pathetic boy. You disgust me."

"_What_?"

"Skye, I—I was wrong"—the words fell through puffy, split lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"He tried to save you all, in the end," Garrett said, kicking Ward in the ribs. He didn't fight back. "Isn't that true, Ward? Get him up," he said, and a nearby Hydra lieutenant dragged Ward to his feet.

"Ward?" Skye asked softly, but he didn't look up at her, just staggered back to his feet again.

"You're going to kill the boy," Garrett told him again. "Or I'm going to kill her."

He tossed Ward the gun, and Ward shook his head, his eyes wild. "No. No. I can't."

"Do it," Garrett snarled. "Do it or I'll make her death slow. You know I will Ward. You know it."

Ward wavered for a long moment.

Then he raised the weapon slowly, his hands shaking, the gun trained on her sleeping baby, and Skye screamed hoarsely, tearing at Deathlok's arms in a frantic attempt to free herself.

Ward clicked the safety, and then his hands steadied.

And he turned towards Garrett, pulling the trigger, and the Clairvoyant fell, shot down by a bullet he had never seen coming.

Deathlok released Skye in surprise, and she ran to Neil, yanking him out of his crib. He had woken and was crying at the top of his lungs now.

Ward nearly fell again, and the other Hydra soldier raised his gun. Skye sent her knife flying into his stomach, and then she grabbed Ward's arm with her free one.

"Run," she said fiercely, and she shoved past Deathlok—who stood, utterly still, as if he had no idea what to do with his newfound freedom.

"Go," Ward whispered, and he bent down and planted a kiss on the top of their son's head. "I can't make it. Give him the life we didn't have, Skye. Please."

Skye shook her head. "I'm not leaving without you," she said stubbornly. "And I need your help to get my son to safety."

"I'm a danger to all of you," he said, staggering on his feet. "I shouldn't be near the baby."

"Oh for god's sake, shut up!" Skye wrapped his arm over her shoulder and half-dragged, half-carried him out of hell into the waiting arms of her team.

_Six months later. _

It had been a long recovery. May and Trip both had scars that weren't going to ever heal fully.

Ward had too many broken bones to walk the way he used to, and he had been spending his days in a med pod-turned-cell aboard the Bus.

The team knew what he had done, for them and against them, and it was going to be a long time before anyone would trust him again, that much was certain. They hadn't decided what justice was for him yet—if he should face law enforcement now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, or that providing whatever measures he deserved was up to them now that they were all that was left of S.H.I.E.L.D.

So they'd kept him as their prisoner aboard the Bus, and he hadn't protested once; just fed them as much intel as he could about Hydra.

During the first few months, it was only Skye who went to see him in the med pod, and never with the baby.

It was Fitz who joined her first, carrying snacks and talking to Ward about Peru and monkeys.

It took Simmons longer to come around, but when she did, she came holding Fitz's hand protectively.

Coulson began to join them, too, speaking guardedly and carefully at first, and finally telling bad jokes about men who were afraid of flying. This time he got to finish his jokes.

May and Trip were the last to come around. May hit him in the face the first time she was allowed in, but when she joined them again it was to stand beside Skye, in battle stance with her fists clenched, watching him suspiciously.

Skye took to sneaking in at night to avoid May's overprotective shadow.

It was one such night, when Neil was seven months old, that she snuck in, bringing him with her for the first time.

Ward sat bolt upright, staring at the child in her arms. "No—Skye"—

"Shut up," she hissed. "May's bunk is next door, and she'll wake up any minute now. I came to see you."

"You brought him," Ward said disbelievingly. "Why did you bring him?"

Skye's face softened. "He was awake, so I thought I'd bring him along. He napped later than usual today, because Fitz and Simmons took him shopping."

Ward grinned slightly. "Fitz? Shopping?"

"I guess I should say Simmons took the boys shopping," Skye laughed, shifting Neil on her hip.

He was a chubby baby, healthy despite the circumstances of his birth, and alert and mobile from an early age. He watched Ward curiously, his eyes bright in the dim light of the cell.

Ward brushed the back of his hand across his eyes, and then looked away from Skye. "You should go," he said dismissively. "You shouldn't have brought him here."

Skye rolled her eyes and shook her head stubbornly. "I didn't just bring him here because he was awake. His Uncle Trip even volunteered to watch him, but I wanted… I wanted you to see him. And I wanted him to see you."

"I don't deserve to be his…" Ward's voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.

"Yea, Ward, you don't get to change that now," Skye said sarcastically. "We screwed in the storage closet, and now you've got a son." Her face fell. "And you had a daughter."

"After we take down Hydra," Ward said slowly. "And before—before I go to prison, can we stop there? At her grave? I know I don't have the right to ask anything of you, but"—

"Shut up," Skye said fiercely. "Shut up. Of course we're going there. We'll go every year, and we'll bring Neil"—

"There is no 'we,' Skye. You know that," Ward said roughly, turning away from her.

Skye caught his hand with her free hand, and Ward looked up at her in surprise.

It was the first time any of them had touched him since they had carried him into the med pod six months ago.

"I know this is messed up," Skye said softly. "I know you've done awful things for Garrett. I know you've made decisions that no one can excuse. But I also know that you saved Fitz and Simmons. That you saved all of us by getting our Bus back. That you saved me—that you saved Neil—when you took Garrett. I know we can't undo the past, Ward."

"Stop," Ward said brokenly, pulling his hand back. "I'm not good for you, or for Neil. He doesn't deserve that in his life."

Skye opened her mouth to reply, but Neil stopped her accidentally. He reached out small, chubby fingers and touched Ward's face in wonder, and then he spoke—baby babble, of course, but the word was clear—"Da-da."

Ward looked up, breathless, and then he was holding both of them in his arms, and there were tears pouring down his face. And for the first time in his life, he didn't try to hide them.

_Outside the cell, Melinda May relaxed from her battle stance and turned to Coulson, a smile on her face. _

"_She did it," May said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Our girl did it." _

_Coulson took her hand gently. "What was it you said, May? Forgiveness is the most courageous decision anyone can make." _

"_And our girl is nothing if not courageous," May said, smiling at him. "Our lionheart." _


End file.
